


Kindling

by rummytummy



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Body Modification, F/M, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Somnophilia, aliens doing bad things, aliens really like lance, but no mpreg, doesn't manage it, just non-con with the aliens, lots of talk about mpreg, the dude wants to knock lance up, the relationships between lance and his friends will be consensual though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-08-07 09:59:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7710733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rummytummy/pseuds/rummytummy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Voltron team starts negotiations with an alien race that has strict A/B/O classifications. When they find out that humans don't have A/B/O classifications, but think that Lance makes the PERFECT omega, they decide to do something about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

" - And _now_ that _a certain someone's_ decided to join us!"

Lance pulls a face at the sound of Coran's hyper-energetic voice. The door hasn't even finished opening.

The whole rest of the team is already up and waiting, and each of them stare as Lance enters. It's too beneath Allura to say anything out loud, she just watches with a knowing, disappointed look. And almost as bad is Shiro's knowing, disappointed look. Ugh, Lance has to resist the urge to just turn back around, crawl into bed and hope for a better tomorrow.

"Sorry, guys, but – "

"We know. You needed your 'beauty sleep,'" Keith finishes, unimpressed.

Lance's mouth snaps shut, because that's actually what he'd been about to say, _as a joke_ , but he definitely can't now! 

"My alarm needs new batteries," he says instead, crossing his arms and jutting out his chin.

"Your alarm is powered by the ship, like every other piece of electronics on board," Shiro says. "But we have something more important to discuss."

"We received a distress signal," Pidge tells him. 

"That we did! And what a signal it was!" Coran's immediately back to business, activating the massive, interactive map of the galaxy, arms combing through it at a rapid pace, then, in what seems at random, selects on particular system, enlarging it. 

"Let me guess. Another planet enslaved by Zarkon," Lance says, with exaggerated boredom as he slumps down into his chair.

"Even better!" Coran says, sounding absolutely thrilled about it. "You're looking a pair of brother planets – planet Lune and planet Rune. They're the same size, shape – identical! They travel their orbit around the sun, side by side, in perfect parallel, for seven hundred years."

"… And then?" Shiro prompts, after a beat of silence.

"They switch places! They eclipse one another, and take the other's position. The planet that's on the inner path relies entirely on the outer planet to maintain contact with the rest of the galaxy! The inner planet spends seven hundred years in darkness and isolation!"

"Sooo we got a distress signal from the one on the outside?" Lance asks.

"Actually, no," Allura says. "By some miracle, the inner planet, Rune, sent a cluster of coded information. Pidge's modified equipment was sensitive enough to pick it up."

"It would've flown right past our sensors otherwise," Coran agrees.

"Way to go, Pidge!" Hunk says.

"The distress signal was carefully coded," Pidge says, smiling at the praise. "To me, it looks like they were trying to hide it from Lune. Which makes me think Lune is the reason they're sending it. But the specifics of the message were vague… just a bunch of requests for help in about three thousand dialects."

"This will be an incredibly delicate mission," Allura says. "Landing on the inner planet without the outer planet's permission is virtually impossible."

"How are we supposed to do that if they're the baddies?" Lance asks.

"Like she said," Coran says. " _Delicately_."

"We can't just – take out Rune?" Keith asks.

"Well, first off, it's _Rune_ we're trying to save, so I hope not, and secondly, no."

"My father had very close relations with both planets," Allura says. "Liberating these people without causing an incident is our top priority!" 

Coran coughs.

"Our – second top priority," Allura says, reluctantly, drooping. 

"Come again?" Hunk asks. "What's more important than this?"

"The visitors from the central districts of the galaxy should be arriving soon," Allura says, as if each word pains her. Lance is vaguely familiar with some of that, it's something Allura has been working on putting together for some time. "It is unfortunately essential that we enlist their help in the Voltron alliance."

"Man, that's some bad timing," Lance says.

"Indeed. Shiro and I will remain here to greet them and present our case," Allura says. "The rest of you will begin negotiations with Lune."

A beat where they process that - then they're all protesting as one: 

"No way - "

"Just the four of us??" 

"Is that really the best idea??"

"I thought you said _delicate_!?"

Allura raises a hand. 

"I have full confidence in your abilities," she says, and honestly seems to mean it. 

"This isn't the first time we've done this," Shiro says. "You'll have Hunk, he's been holding his own in these kinds of negotiations for a while."

It's true, now that Shiro says it. This is something like their 237th freed planet (they had a party earlier for number 200) and a fair share of that involved super boring discussions at super boring tables in super boring offices as much as flying a gigantic lion robot. Still, as much as Hunk speaks up and gives impassioned, moving speeches, Allura's always _been there_ , Shrio's always been there. It's intimidating to go it alone, and for a second, Lance thinks Hunk is going to protest. He looks a little queasy. 

"Yeah, he's right, Hunk," Lance says, throwing an arm over his shoulder. "You'll kick total ass."

"I should hope not!" Allura says, aghast. "Violence must be avoided at all costs – and should not be necessary. I remember the kingdom of Lune as reasonable – and compassionate. I am sure they can be reasoned with, and Hunk has always made the most compelling arguments when speaking with such a people."

"Well, I'll do my best," Hunk says, smiling weakly. 

~

"How are the negotiations going down there?"

Shiro's voice was a sudden surprise in their helmets, and Keith and Pidge exchange a glance.

"Uh."

"It started out fine," Pidge finally says. "Lune recognized the previous alliance Allura's father had with their people, and they agreed to speak with us."

"Why do I feel like there's a 'but?'" Shiro says.

"Yeah. Well," Keith says. "I don't think it was a good idea to send just the four of us."

"What? Why? What happened?"

Keith sighs. Beside him, Pidge opens a door leading into the conference room, and Hunk's voice immediately blasts into the hall, more than loud enough for their mics to pick up.

" _Excuse me, commodore!_ "

"Excuse yourself."

Shiro can't see it, but Pidge winces at the sight of Hunk, hands slapped against the surface of the table, leaning forward aggressively. Yeesh. "There are _people_ down there! Real people! People who are suffering each and every moment, and it's not going to stop – "

"You think we don't know this? We have lived on its brother, how many years? We know, child, it is not as simple – "

"That's where you're wrong! _Yes_ , it is that simple!"

Shiro sighs, and Pidge lets the door drift shut. "Okay, then. Get in there and tell Hunk that you're all getting called back to the castle for an emergency. Once Allura and I finish here, we'll try to restart the nego – "

"Wait – wait a tick," Pidge says. 

The argument in the hall has quieted. 

This is Voltron's two hundred, fifteenth negotiation to liberate an occupied planet. And yeah, it's usually Allura, and sometimes Hunk, and sometimes Shiro who do the heavy lifting. But sometimes...

Sometimes it's Lance.

And the thing about Lance is, he can talk. 

He can talk and talk, and barrel right into a hostile, awkward silence that would leave most people intimidated and mumbling. But Lance _smiles_ , chattering away in an endless stream of shameless nonsense and pleasantries, for as long as it's needed. Longer, even. Sometimes – oftentimes – this annoys their host as much as it annoys Lance's team, but other times it's like watching some old fashioned magic man getting an entire town to invest in snake oil.

"I don't know about anyone else," Lance is saying. "But this room is just too dark and dingy! Who can _talk_ under these conditions?? Am I right? Can we roll up these windows? Yeah – check that out! How much better is that? Now we can see each other, face to face! Eye to eye! Man to man to – alien to alien to alien! So, commie – uh. Dory. Can I call you Dory?"

"No."

"Commodore, just _how long_ have we been sitting at this table??"

"Three _frustrating_ nonducts."

"That's what I thought! Why don't we all take a breather and get to know _you_."

"Okay," Shiro's voice says, directly in Pidge's ear. "Let's see how things progress from here. I want a status update in another hour."

"You got it," Keith says. 

They sit back and watch the show. It's a group of six Lune natives, facing off against Hunk and Lance. Hunk has settled back into his seat with a visible pout, arms crossed, while Lance is on his feet, walking and talking with his entire body, arms spread wide, slumping over to emphasize a point, leaning dramatically over Hunk's chair – pinching Hunk's cheek. Pidge finds it comical at best, but it it definitely seems to be working. The counsel is visibly relaxing, and when Lance suggests taking a short break for a snack, they all agree.

They disperse from the conference hall and are led to a more casual room, decorated with bright colors and knickknacks and awards, obviously designed for entertaining. Servers are still setting up the area, walking in and out of the room with massive platters of food, setting them up on a series of tables that are way too high for Pidge to reach – the people of Lune would be something like eight feet tall on Earth – but smell good enough make their stomach clench in interest. One of the perks of leaving the safety of the castle: eating something other than green goop. 

"How do you think it's going?" Hunk asks, once he breaks away from the group. 

"I was about to ask _you_ the same thing," Keith says. 

"I - think it could be better! God, I really don't want to bomb our first negotiation. The princess put a lot of faith in me, you know?" Hunk says, and honestly seems confused about how this is playing out. 

"Hunk, hand me one of those strawberry-looking thing," Pidge demands, hoping to distract him from his gloomy thoughts, but Hunk doesn't even react to the mention of food, just bending down to hoist Pidge up onto his shoulders. Yikes. How this played out isn't exactly a surprise to Pidge, though. Allura wasn't wrong when she said that Hunk works best with compassionate, rational people. Hunk negotiates by making connections, when he can tell the person he's talking with actually _cares_. The second he gets blown off with excuses or agendas, he loses all patience and it turns into a shouting match. Hunk is just too sincere to pander to some alien's bottom line. 

Pidge grabs something brightly colored and round from the smorgasbord of Lune desserts and passes it down to Hunk as a consolation. "I think it's going pretty well, honestly. Lance is on a roll." 

They all glance over at the other side of the room.

Four of the aliens are buzzing around Lance like bees to a flower – and Lance seems right at home with his alien escorts, though the height difference makes him look like a child, still chattering away as they hand him a drink from a table just out of reach. One of the aliens say something and Lance laughs, just _slightly_ exaggerated, grabbing at the alien's forearm to brace himself in a way Pidge's seen Lance do with Hunk countless times. The Lune-ian? Lune-ite? smiles, clearly proud of himself for getting such a positive reaction from Lance.

"A manipulative thing, bringing an omega to negotiations."

Pidge blinks and looks up… and up. It's the commodore, a grim faced alien with a blueish tint to his skin. He's staring down at the group of them with a critical expression.

"… Come again?" Pidge asks, acutely aware of still riding Hunk's shoulders. But. Whatever, maybe riding on shoulders is a totally normal thing for humans to do. Not like the people of Lune would know. Pidge grabs another snack and shoves the whole thing in their mouth defiantly. 

"Your omega is a distraction, with his flirting and carrying on. It's _fiendish_. But," the commodore's eyes narrow in something like amusement. "Very clever, I must admit. Maybe this omega presence is common for your people, but here, we would never expose an omega to such dire discussions." 

"Sorry, what's an omega?" Hunk asks, lowering Pidge to the floor.

" _Omega_ ," commodore repeats, as though that will somehow define it. "You know. Carrying babies. They – ah. You know."

"It doesn't quite work like that for humans," Keith says, and small, but very genuine and very delighted smile is creeping up his face. "What exactly seemed "omega-like" about Lance? To you?"

"Oh – well. You know," the commodore huffs a bit, obviously uncomfortable. "So agreeable, so smiley, so – _touchy_. He touches my shoulder, my arm as he talks! On this planet, no beta or alpha would touch alphas in such a way! Not without more," he clears his throat awkwardly. "Familiarity. But omegas, you know. They are touchy. He is _truly_ not an omega?"

"Sorry. He's just – Lance?" Hunk says with a shrug. "He's always been like that."

"He definitely doesn't carry babies," Pidge says.

"I see," commodore says, and actually looks disheartened. "Perhaps then, its best if we speak only to you, Hunk, from now on. This is quite a serious matter we are trying to discuss, there's no place for such… pointless distraction."

"Oh – no, please feel free to think of him as an omega!" Pidge says, quickly. 

"Yeah, our Lance is your Lance, and if you want to call him an omega, that's just fine with us," says Keith.

"And you two – you are not – omegas? Betas, alphas? You, Hunk, are certainly an alpha??"

"Nope," Pidge says. "I'm not sure what the classification standards are, but it's definitely not something humans have on earth."

"I see," the commodore says, obviously still struggling to process this concept. "I thank you for your honesty." 

Pidge glances over but sees Lance is already being swept out of the room by his alien entourage. The negotiations being again, this time with a slightly heavier, grimmer air. Lance still does his best to work his way through it, dialing the charm up to eleven, and Pidge watches the commodore – his gaze locked on Lance. 

~

These Lune people are weird.

Lance can admit that, even if he'd rather not, cause they really seem to like him! So they obviously have great taste! And he'd like to like them back, but there's just … a _weird_ sort of energy going on.

But Lance knows his job today, and he'll keep doing his job, even if the sound of his voice is starting to turn into a senseless buzz in his own head. 

"Now that we know each other a little better, I gotta admit, I'm asking myself, just what are you guys worried about?? You seem like pretty reasonable dudes! And you know _we're_ reasonable dudes, so what harm is there in us taking a quick little peek at Rune?" Lance smiles his most winning smile, the one that got his _abuela_ to let him lick her mixing spoon clean. The team exchanges a glance, and Lance's smile grows - he can sense their weakness. "Just a look, in and out, no harm, no foul, you wouldn't even know we were there - " 

__

"Thank you, Lance," the commodore says, with that same strange energy, he stands and holds Lance's hand in both of his, nodding and/or bowing slightly. "You have given us much to think about. We will return with our answer."

"Yes! Great! And we'll be right here waiting!" Lance says, mimicking the nod/bow back.

They deliberate for what has to be less than ten minutes, then they're back, calling for Keith and Pidge to be brought in. 

"This is an announcement for all members of your team," says the commodore. Keith and Pidge step into the room, and annoyingly, despite Lance being the obvious lead in this, the commodore directs the announcement toward the three of them, looking over Lance's head completely. "We will allow an investigative convoy onto our brother planet. If you return with undeniable evidence, we will entertain discussion of intervention."

Hunk is practically quivering at the injustice, but Lance smoothly slides ahead of him.

"Hey, that's great! I knew we could come to an agreement! Dude, you are the best. Don't let anyone tell you different, alright?" Lance's heart is actually racing in excitement at the prospect of a break. He wants to nap, wants to stop _talking_ \- shocking, true, but even Lance has his limits. It feels like he's been _on_ for hours. "Well, it's been a loooong day, and I think all of us are – "

"There are some conditions."

"Like what?" Keith asks, flat. The aliens stare at him with sour, unimpressed expressions. Lance could strangle him.

"I'm sure whatever it is, we'll be willing to talk about it!" Lance says, and it feels a little like he's trying to keep toddlers from crying by distracting them with a piece of candy. 

"Yes. Our biggest condition is collateral. We require the presence of one of your paladins to remain here, in our estate."

"No way!" Hunk says, before Lance can freaking tackle the dude to the ground. "We need all five to form Voltron, if something goes wrong – "

"Precisely. This is an exploratory mission only. The lions you pilot provide enough protection if something should go "wrong." You will have no cause to form your Voltron. This will ensure that," the commodore says. "Consider carefully before you reject this offer, it is by far the kindest one we have considered today." 

"Okay – thank you! Thank you very much! So the four of us will go take this very generous offer to our princess, and – "

"Is it totally necessary for all four of you to go? I believe your companions are capable of relaying the message," says an especially tall Lune-dude who had been really determined to get Lance to try a drink earlier. Lance sighs inwardly. 

"No, yeah, you're totally right," Lance says, waving the three of them away. "These guys are boring anyway, how about we all go back to that snack room?"

Lance barely hears the sound of the door closing over the sound of his own voice.

~

"I say, screw this. I say, we get out of here, form Voltron and liberate the heck out of Rune, and not lose any sleep when Lune starts crying about it."

"Hunk," Shiro sighs.

"That is _absolutely_ out of the question," Allura says, and Pidge has missed the sound of her firm, confident voice, and wishes she had been present for this entire debacle. Maybe then they wouldn't be faced with such a ridiculous choice.

"We don't even know what's down there, Hunk," Pidge says. "It could be anything, Voltron might not even be able to help."

"But who would stay behind?"

"They're _obviously_ thinking Lance," Pidge says. "They didn't even want him to leave the room so he could talk about it with the rest of us."

"And that's another thing – that whole thing? Them being all clingy and interested in Lance? It's creepy. I don't trust them with Lance, and if we're doing this, which _again_ , is a terrible idea, it definitely shouldn't be Lance. It should be someone else."

"Hunk, we just want this to go as smoothly as possible – "

"No, actually, I kind of agree," Keith says, to the surprise of everyone. "They're being really weird. Also, the commodore was sure Lance was this thing he called "an omega" and got really upset when we said he wasn't one."

"Omega," Allura repeats, thoughtfully. 

"Does that mean something to you, princess?"

"I seem to recall… before, the omega was a very protected class to these brother planets. If they believe Lance is an omega, or see him as one, no harm will come to him," Allura says. "Which makes Lance the logical member of Voltron to stay behind."

"Can we have Coran come down here too, at least? Just to make sure they won't do anything weird?"

"Eh?" Coran's voice says, loudly, as though grabbing the mic from Allura. "Yeah, why not! I can be a chaperone! Stretch my legs a bit. Been a while since I saw the brother planets, it'd be a good time."

"Alright then, we have our decision. I'll start reading the party to head down to the planet. Coran, you research further on the customs that may have developed since we last spoke with these people. Just to be safe."

"Yes, your highness."

"You got it, ma'am."

"Alright. I'll be waiting to rendezvous with the rest of you once this is settled," Shiro says, and the conversation ends.

"Well, it's not as bad as it could be," Pidge says, but that doesn't help Hunk's dark expression.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thanks for all the great, supportive feedback!
> 
> This chapter is going to go real fast cause I want to get to the fun stuff! Just stick it out a little longer and we'll get there, I promise!

The conference room is empty, and so is the entertaining room. After a brief disagreement over who should ask the attendant they spot in the hall, they're finally directed to a patio area.

It's filled with mingling Lunians, and, in the back, they find Lance tucked neatly between two of them, on an oversized bench. Lance is one of the most physical guys Keith's ever met, but how they're sitting has to be too close for comfort, even for him. 

"Well, we talked to the princess," Keith says, loudly, to get their attention, hoping it'll be enough to get their oversized hands off Lance's shoulder. 

Lance's head snaps his way at the sound of his voice, face lighting up in hope of rescue. He bounces off the couch, to his feet. "And?? What'd she say?" 

"She agrees to your terms," Hunk says. His blunt and unhappy tone doesn't make sense until Keith sees that he's directing it to the commodore, who has noticed their presence as well. "Lance stays while the four of us go down to Rune."

"That's – " Lance's smile freezes, shakes, then is back in full, force. "Great."

"Yes. Excellent," the commodore says. "I admit, I had doubts at the start, but this has come to be a mutually beneficial arrangement." 

"Oh, and I hope this isn't a problem," Hunk says, just a touch sarcastically. "But the princess assigned her advisor to keep you and Lance company while we're on Rune."

"Eh? Advisor?" Lance asks, but the commodore is unshaken, and nods toward a row of attendants on standby, who head off, probably to start preparing a room for the additional guest. 

"Yeah. Coran should be arriving shortly."

" _Coran_ is Allura's _advisor_?" Lance asks.

"…Yeah," Pidge says. "What did you think he was doing, just hanging around the castle?"

"I don't know, I thought he was like her goofy.. uncle? Something," Lance shrugs. 

" _Anyway_ ," Keith says. "If we're done here? We'd like to head down to Rune and get this over with."

"If you are in such a rush, yes," the commodore says. "Though tradition says to celebrate such an agreeable compromise with a feast." He gestures wide at the surrounding group, which Keith now identifies – yes, as a party. 

"Looks like you'll just have to celebrate with Coran and Lance," Pidge says. "We're on a tight schedule."

"Very well," the commodore says, and waves to a passing attendant. "Escort the Voltron team to the landing bay, and tell security they have clearance to land on Rune… Lance?"

"I'll be right back," Lance says. He'd been not-so-subtly creeping along beside Hunk, and is still backing toward the exit along with the rest of the team. "But I gotta wish them luck! See 'em off, give our long, teary goodbyes – you know how it is."

Lance's smile is steady, and obviously, obviously fake the entire walk to the landing bay. It's not until their escort leaves them, heading up into the dispatch area, that it finally drops with almost comical speed.

" _This blows!_ " he hisses to Hunk. "I've been sucking up to these guys for hours! I did all the hard work! None of you are tagging in??"

"Sorry. It was Allura's decision," Hunk says. "I'm just annoyed about it as you are."

" _Pfffft!_ " Lance sputters in disbelief.

"Hey," Keith says, and Lance whirls to face him, still high on his annoyance. "Try to keep your distance, alright? These guys are giving off bad vibes."

"Uh. Right," Lance says. "Like the guy who spent the whole time dicking around in the _hallway_ is suddenly an expert."

"That's not what – " 

"If you know so much, why don't _you_ stay behind to hang out with the Creep Crew?"

"The princess thinks you're the safest choice," Pidge says, in their helmets as they're already in the Green Lion. "The Lune.. ites consider you a protected class."

"What?" Lance asks. "A protected class of _what_?"

"They think you're an 'omega,'" Hunk says. 

"A what?"

"I think it's like a wolf pack or something," Pidge says. "Apparently they have alpha and beta classifications, too, but I didn't have time to read up on what it means… And our launch window is closing, so we gotta get moving."

"Hey," Hunk says, voice suddenly very serious, lagging behind to put his hand on Lance's shoulder while Keith boards Red. "I don't get a good feeling from these guys… don't hang out with them any more than you have to, alright?"

"Yeah," Lance says, sincerely. "Thanks, Hunk."

"… _Are you kidding_ ," Keith snaps before he can stop himself.

~

Shiro's first impression of Keith was that he'd been on his own a long, long time. 

He wasn't a particularly poised or polished kid, but Keith was strict with his time, his studies and his practices in a way no other first year Garrison cadet was. He didn't mess around or goof off or try to impress his peers – when he mouthed off and lost his temper, it wasn't joking or teasing, it was real anger and fear, the kind that only comes from not having a safety net. Quick to defend, to lash out, because no one else had his back.

A sort of forced, artificial maturity that, frankly, broke Shiro's heart. 

It's been years, and Keith has improved. He confides in Shiro, and trusts Shiro, and performs his best when he's working under Shrio, but there's one thing Lance pulls out of him that Shiro has never managed. 

"Honestly, does he do it on purpose?" Keith's voice echoes in Shiro's cockpit, clearly irritated beyond reason. "He's such – a _jerk_."

Lance gets Keith to act his age. 

He gets under his skin, forces Keith to change his script and suddenly Keith is making the kind of mistakes he never did at the Garrison – losing his temper, yes. But getting in grade-school style arguments? Bragging? Plowing his ship headfirst into the earth in a dick measuring contest?? Agreeing to stupid, petty dares? Shiro never would've thought it possible, and he can't entirely bring himself to discourage it.

"Man, it's just different, you know?" Hunk is saying. "Lance and I go way back."

"We've been flying together for over a year, Hunk," Keith says. 

"I wouldn't take it personal," Pidge says. "I'd be in a bad mood, too, if I was him."

" _Whatever_ ," Keith says, and sounds for all the world like a pouting fifteen year old. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Shiro can't help the smile.

"Alright," Shiro says after a beat, keeping his tone professional. "Once we break atmosphere, I want Pidge to find the location the initial distress beacon was sent from. That's our starting point. Considering how isolated these folks have been, I don't think we have to worry about a serious physical threat, but I want everyone on guard, just in case. We're flying in blind. No assumptions. Got it?"

"Got it," all three chorus in time, and start their descent into Rune's murky gray skies. 

~

"And you're sure you'll be alright?"

"As much as one can be sure of anything," Allura says, then sighs, obviously pained. "This is such bad luck it almost can't be a coincidence."

" _Maybe_ we could," Coran says, as lightly as possible. "Postpone? The Rune mission?"

"No, absolutely not. And I trust Hunk's instincts – and Keith's," Allura says. "Your presence is obviously needed on Lune with Lance. And I cannot expect a team of three to land in unknown territory, I cannot justify keeping Shiro here. It's – simply a freak storm of difficulties." 

Four of the diplomats from the central galaxy have made a clear, unequivocal _no_ to the Voltron Alliance. Two are a firm yes, and it leaves three more undecided. It's a particularly delicate moment in the discussions, and the alliance as a whole. Shiro had been forming bonds with one of the diplomats, and his loss will be a heavy blow, but Coran knows Allura has beaten worse odds.

"Well, I'm sure you'll weather it with grace as always," he says, and she smiles.

"Thank you, Coran," she says, taking his hand for a brief squeeze. "Now, hurry down to Lune before Lance makes an even bigger mess of the one he's landed himself in."

"That boy," Coran chuckles, mostly to himself but Allura hums fondly in agreement as he leaves the room. 

Coran did as ordered, and has read up quite a bit on the customs of Lune. 

The planet has always drawn very clear lines between their classifications, but ten thousand years ago, omegas could own property, and sire children independently, and had say in their romantic partners. They were functional members of society, though also baggaged with limitations; curfews and decency laws and what have you.

Today, however, is a far more limited existence. Omegas are seen as dependents, appointed guardians or mentors, and kept safe in the home. It's definitely got the potential to turn into something sticky, but Coran's confident it will only take a few conversations to set it all straight, hopefully without Lance finding out about a misunderstanding he would no doubt find embarrassing. 

"You are Coran? Royal advisor of Princess Allura?"

"That I am!" he says to the attendant, waiting on Coran when he exits his pod. "I heard there's a paladin in need of a chaperone!" 

"Lance is currently preparing for tonight's celebration," says the attendant. "I can take you to his room."

"Lead the way!" 

He's taken into the large, ornate building, a quite modern and polished structure and nothing like the modest, open spaces Coran remembers from Lune before. But that was ten thousand years ago. He had forgotten, as well, just how awkwardly tall the people of this planet are, and wishes he'd remembered to grow a few feet on the flight over. It'd just be ridiculous to do it now.

"Say," Coran says, taking the chance to fish for some information. Might as well try to validate what he'd learned. "You wouldn't happen to know if any omegas work here in this building, would you?"

"Work?" the attendant asks, amused. "There's a seraglio, if that's what you mean." 

"I see," Coran says. 

"They're on the top floor and available to service, if you'd like a visit before the party."

"No, no, no thank you. Just curious!"

The attendant nods politely. "Very well. Here you are, Coran," they've come to a stop in front of a door, and they gesture to the one down the hall. "Your personal room is the next over. Commodore Dunic is eager to personally welcome you at tonight's gathering."

"And I'll be there with bells on!" Coran says, giving a brief salute, and quickly ducking in Lance's room. 

" _Coran_ ," Lance's voice is tight and high in his distress before he's even managed to close the door. Lance is sitting on a large bed, shirtless, and looks nearly at his breaking point – eyes pinpricks, flushed slightly and generally frazzled. " _Look_ at this."

It takes Coran a moment to spot what he's supposed to be looking at. "Oh my."

"They want me to wear this," he says, looking sick, and defensive, like he'll put up a fight if Coran forces it, and Coran certainly doesn't blame him.

The 'outfit' is a single piece of cloth, pants if you could call it that, with a thick, V-shaped band around the waist and lots of loose, transparent-ish fabric below that. 

"… I see."

"He told me – the commodore told me that the negotiations are still _a work in progress_ ," Lance says, "and any hiccups tonight could mean the team on Rune would have their clearance revoked. Would they really attack them?"

"It's hard to say," Coran says. "A smart man wouldn't risk making an enemy of Voltron, but there's no saying how smart this commodore is." 

There's a long beat of silence, where Coran appreciates just how narrow Lance's build really is. The knobs of his spine, the thin lines of his arms, coming to points at his elbow. Without a shirt he looks fragile, and hollow, like a bird. If it was up to Coran, he'd be wearing a sweater to this party. 

"… I'm really not comfortable with this," Lance says, and sounds ashamed of it, staring down at the ground ahead of him. "At _all_. But refusing… " 

Coran gives a mighty sigh, and hopes up onto the bed, sitting beside Lance. "You know, in the days of old, soldiers all across the galaxy would train for years, just to have the privilege of even cleaning the lion's hangers! The process of becoming an actual paladin was intense, to say the least."

"So you're saying a _real_ paladin would suck it up and deal with it?" Lance mutters.

"No, Lance. I'm saying the paladins used to be _prepared_ for this kind of… sticky situation. They knew what they were signing up for. But you and the others… sort of had it land right in your lap," Coran says. "You've got a lot of responsibility, but that doesn't mean you're not a human. You've got to look inside yourself and figure out what you think si right, _and_ what you can live with. The princess and I will support it either way. Alright?"

Lance is quiet for a beat, then nods. "Thanks, Coran."

"My pleasure."

"Honestly, at this point I'm kind of wishing we'd just gone with Keith's plan of taking out Lune from space."

"Well, the night's not over yet."

~

To his surprise, Lance decides to wear the garment. 

"It's just like a swimsuit, right? A funky swimsuit," Lance says to himself. 

It is incredibly flattering, especially from behind, the dark band covering only the slightest bit of his backside, the line of it emphasizing the curve and shape of his rear as he walks, a tease from under the gossamer fabric. Lance is a healthy young man in the prime of his life, everything about him radiates boyishness and charm, and he has the immediate attention of every Lunian in the room.

Coran finds himself following very close behind, trying to block the view as they make their way through the crowd. Lance is in too high of demand for that to last long, though.

"Lance!" one of them say, sounding happy and possibly drunk, large hand wrapping around what Coran is only just now noticing is an incredibly small and fragile wrist. 

Coran bites back on the urge to call after him, just watching for a moment – it seems fine, they're slightly handsy, literally hoisting Lance up onto a table, but Lance is rolling with the punches, smiling and laughing along with whatever it is they're saying. He's fine. 

"You must be Coran."

"And you must be Commodore Dunic," Coran says, turning to look up at their host. Damn. Really wishing he'd just added even a few inches. "Thank you for your hospitality – "

"I won't be coy, Coran," Dunic says. "I am interested in your boy."

"Goodness!" Coran barks out a laugh of surprise, startled by the boldness. He had prepared an argument that would hopefully appeal to their reasoning, but hadn't expected to need it, at least not _immediately_. "I hardly think it has to be said, but Lance is already claimed by the Altea kingdom… such as it is. He's not available."

"Please. There are ways around that, to renege claims," Dunic allows his gaze to drift over to Lance, just for a moment. Goodness. The man really is smitten. No wonder Hunk and Keith had the heebie jeebies. 

"He's not an omega," Coran reminds him. "He's really not – _compatible_ to this way of life." 

"Mm, maybe that's why he catches my eye," Dunic says. "I have six omegas of my own. I have had… countless omegas. None like him. I admit, I am fascinated."

"Six! Good god, listen to yourself!" Coran says. "You clearly don't need a seventh, and he is quite irreplaceable. So the answer is no, and I won't get tired of saying it, no matter how many times you ask!"

Dunic stares hard at Coran, and Coran feels each inch of height between them. He wonders if this is about to get ugly – so much for sending him to for damage control – when Dunic simply nods.

"Very well."

"… Yeah? That's it?"

"I had hoped we could compromise," Dunic says. "But you've made your position clear. Let us enjoy the feast and the night. I have a good feeling about tomorrow."

"Well. Good," Coran says. "Me, too."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long and is so short :( I hope you guys enjoy! I'll update the tags as the warnings start to apply, right now I'm not totally sure on everything that's going to happen. 
> 
>  
> 
> I really wanted to post this so I could share this AMAZING FANART hardlynotever drew of Lance's outfits, I am speechless at how beautiful and creative it is: 
> 
> http://hardlynotnever.tumblr.com/post/148974009700/idk-how-alien-clothing-is-but-i-imagined-this-as-a
> 
> hardlynotever's style is beautiful and they have LOTS of amazing Lance fanart so check them out!!!!!!!

Before _mama_ or _papa_ or _baba_ , Lance's first word was _hello._

He was a hopelessly affectionate baby, even before he could speak he was always smiling and reaching out to strangers they passed on the street. As a toddler, all visitors to their home were welcomed with enthusiastic hugs and kisses, and he saw every new person as a potential friend. 

As charming as it was, his mother was torn. She didn't want to spook him or to scold this out of her son, for him to become withdrawn or timid, but as he grew older, his indiscriminate affection became a problem. At five years old, he simply could not grasp the concept that not everyone could be trusted. 

When she tried to discuss safety with him, about what he should do if a stranger should approach, there was only curiosity and excitement in his face. Never caution, never fear. She could never get him to see the dangers of a _brand new friend_ offering him candy or asking if he'd like to take a walk. 

It's a conversation she should've been focusing more toward her daughters, but they were already cautious – Lance was her only child still holding to that childish naivete, combined with a horrifying new preteen version that he made him think he was invincible. And so she tries again. 

"Fine," she says, when Lance asks, at thirteen, if he can go with his friends to a party that will have high schoolers, and all the mistakes high schoolers make.

" _Yes_ , thanks mama – "

"But listen! Do not drink anything anyone gives you that's already been opened," she says. "Don't leave a party alone, always go in a group – "

"Oh my god, mama," Lance rolls his eyes, switching to english – he always does when he plans to be disrespectful to his parents. His mother scowls, and pinches his ear tight. "Ah! _Lo siento, lo siento_!"

"A big man? Hm? Listen to your mother, _niñito_ ," she says. "If they try – anyone, if anyone tries to take you somewhere, and they don't listen when you say no – you fight. Understood? You fight as hard as you can, right there, don't stop – because if they get you where they want you, you'll be alone with them. No one will be able to help you, and you won't be to leave."

"Mama," Lance whines, no longer trying to tug himself free. 

"It's not nice to think about?"

He frowns, shaking his head. 

"I don't like it either," she says, releasing his ear. "But neither of us will have to worry if you are careful. Understood?"

He makes a show of rubbing at his ear as he nods. And she sighs. She was lying. Of course she is going to worry, it doesn't matter how careful he is. 

~

"This is a celebration! Don't just look at your cup, drink it!"

"Ha! I'd like to see you stop me!" Lance says, but it's weak. He brings the cup to his lips. The Lunite doesn't seem to be watching too closely, and Lance has had enough experience at this point in dealing with questionable alien cuisine. He's able to get away with taking the tiniest sip possible. 

He's not really sure why. The drink isn't the grossest he's ever had – hell, the grossest _Coran_ has ever given him – it's nice, even, fruity and tangy, dancing on his tongue pleasantly like soda pop. There's just an urgent, impossible to ignore voice in his head saying to be careful, and drinking just seems like a bad idea. 

He sneaks a look over at Coran, but he's still hanging out with the commodore, like he has all night. So much for a chaperone. 

"Lance," says one of the aliens, resting a finger on the curve his chin, sliding down the line of it in uncomfortably intimate touch, turning his face. He's one of the younger ones, Lance has started to notice differences. There's some light spotting on the Lunite's neck and cheeks that apparently to fade with age, like the spots on a fawn. This younger one is heavily spotted and looking down at Lance with hot interest in his face. "What is your planet called again?"

"Earth."

"That's not very creative," another Lunite says. 

"Just _earth_?"

"'Fraid so," Lance says, and would normally make a joke of it, but – honestly he's nervous. There are so many of these aliens, swarming around and touching – plucking at the fabric of his loose pants, grabbing at his arms, lifting them up to inspect the skin. He feels like a toy, being passed around, poked and prodded. At first it was irritating, but as the Lunites get drunker, louder and bolder, he's starting to realize what a precarious situation this is.

"Do all Earth people have patterns like you?"

"Patterns?" Lance asks.

"Here," a Lunite's large finger traces against Lance's skin, along his collar, where it was exposed to the sun, and again on his arm, and another hand, belonging to someone else, takes advantage of the opportunity and starts moving down Jean's side, toward his thighs. Lance jerks away in an uncontrollable twitch once the hand reaches his hip. No one – not since he's started considering himself an adult – has touched him there.

Lance jerks and it doesn't matter which direction he tries to escape through, there's waiting touches blocking him in. "Yeah, th-that's a tan … humans get them."

"That's right, they're called _human_."

"It's not a very cute name. Doesn't suit you at all. _Human_ living on _earth_ ," the alien tsks, disappointed. "Are all humans as small as you?"

"I don't, uh," Lance says, knowing they want some kind of response, something charming and witty, but his voice is shaking now. "There's, um – "

"Come on, stop crowding the little thing. You're scaring him." 

"No, I'm not – it's – it's fine."

"What was that mate of yours thinking?" says his "Rescuer", moving in closer than anyone else has so far. "Sending you off all alone to fend off a bunch of unruly alphas like us." 

"Is that him, over there? With the mustache?"

"No, that's – that's Coran," Lance says. 

"The _chaperone_ ," one of them mutters to another, sounding amused.

"Mm. Seems like the commodore has him occupied," the Lunite leans down, smiling conspiratorially. "Think we can get away with something… naughty?"

The Lunite's hand is on the small of Lance's back, and is large enough to span the whole distance of it, curving around his waist, and Lance's hands fly to his chest – instinct says to _shove_ the Lunite back, but Lance freezes. 

How far does this diplomacy have to go? Just the commodore? Can Lance push this one away without endangering Hunk? Shiro, Pidge, Keith? The entire _galaxy_? He swallows, and tries to calm his nerves. 

"Ha, ah, think I'll pass," Lance says, and does push away, but it's a calmer, slower move. The Lunite resists just long enough for Lance to know it's a choice, that he _allows_ Lance to get away. 

"Ah. He's a good boy," says a Lunite. "Unclaimed, right?"

"Uhm," Lance voice shakes. He's got a feeling that's a loaded question, doesn't want to answer it, and his nervousness makes them laugh. 

"Hey, we're gentlemen. Don't worry."

A pair of hands land on his hips, and Lance nearly chokes as he's lifted up, and this time he can't stop the instinct to kick, pull away. "No – hey – " Panic rises as he's ignored, the large hands shifting, growing firmer and tighter against Lance's struggle. "Stop – _stop!_ " 

Lance is sat down on a Lunite's lap and struggles to get away, fighting against the thick arms wrapped around his middle.

The fight gets some attention, not that it's very helpful. The Lunites closest to him stop, watching with hungry, interested eyes, the rest of the party going on without incident. 

Lance elbows back into the Lunite with all his strength, remembering Keith's hand to hand lessons, how to aim for specific spots. Of course it doesn't work, the guy towers over him and is several times his own weight. 

"Hey, calm down," laughs the Lunite. "I'm not going to bite!"

~

"The Altea kingdom has not forgotten the deep bond we shared with Lune and Rune," Coran says. "Princess Allura still holds your people as a priority."

The commodore stares down at his drink thoughtfully for a moment, and almost sounds remorseful when he speaks. "Altea, and Voltron… a peaceful universe. Those are all part of our ancient history. Not something Lunians are prepared to embrace today." 

"No one's expecting overnight miracles!" Coran says. "It's an investment, one that – "

There's a commotion. Coran looks over his shoulder, at the throng of Lunians, and sees Lance, being bodily lifted into the air again, only this time instead of laughing along with it, he looks quite panicked, kicking and pulling away. 

"No – hey – !" he says, and sounds terrified. "Stop – _stop!_ " 

Coran has thrown his drink to the side, fighting through the crowd before he's fully consciously thought about it. Pretenses be damned, he's growing with each step he takes as well, and by the time he reaches Lance, has grown nearly double his original size, standing eye-to-eye with the tallest of the Lunians. 

"What's all this?!"

"Oh, we – you know…" 

The Lunian holding Lance relaxes his arms and Lance quickly scrambles free, moving behind Coran and sticking close. The group of Lunians have the air of scolded cadets; not regretful, not remorseful, pleased by themselves and the situation as they hang their heads. Accepting punishment, but not taking it seriously at all.

"I certainly do know," Coran says. 

"You brought an omega at a party, what else did you expect?" 

Lance steps closer to Coran. "I realize this is a difficult concept for the lot of you but Lance is not an omega! Nor is he your property, so – "

"Did they touch him?" Dunic's voice is very serious, and _that_ gets the group's attention. They sober quickly.

"No, sir, of course not. Just some messing around."

Coran is still waiting for an outburst from Lance, this quietness is unsettling. But he keeps silent, mouth pinched shut, and pale. He clearly does not want any more attention on him that he already has. 

Dunic nods over his shoulder. A double set of doors open, and, as if waiting for their cue, out comes a group of omegas – _actual_ omegas. The tension dissipates immediately, everyone's attention shifting from the novelty of Lance to the gorgeous, flirtatious creatures. They're just as tall as the rest of the Lunians, but their slenderness and grace of their movements set them apart immediately; the alpha and betas of the room are all very serious-faced and somewhat grim. The omegas have a distinct air of playfulness, coy smiles and winks, quite comfortable in their draping, revealing clothes. They're welcomed into the arms of the waiting alphas and betas, laughing and yelping in playful surprise as they're groped and pinched and slapped and stroked. 

A chill runs down Coran's back at the display and the almost uncanny resemblance to Lance. Of course their first thought was to manhandle Lance. He's almost exactly an omega, just in miniature. 

"I want to go back to the castle," Lance says, voice so quiet that Coran barely hears it at all, obviously realizing the same thing. Coran grips his shoulder in a way he hopes is a comfort.

"Usually the seraglio is brought in much later," Dunic says. "But I suppose our young guest has tested our soldier's patience quite enough."

He says this in a fond way, smiling slightly as he stares at Lance, and Coran feels his heckles rise.

"I suppose so," Coran says. "Well, it's important for all paladins to get a good night's rest, so I'll just escort Lance to bed! Good night, Commodore Dunic, and thank you again for your – generous. Generosity."

The commodore looks as though he might protest for a moment, then nods in dismissal. Coran doesn't need to be told twice, hurrying away from the party, Lance doing his best to keep pace beside him.

"I don't want to spend the night here, Coran," Lance says, once they've made it to the privacy of the hallway.

"And you're not going to," Coran says. "Come on, the hanger is a straight shot through these halls – we'll load you up and say it was an allergic reaction to their pomopo juice, how about that?"

~

"They're heading to the hangers."

Dunic nods, unsurprised. 

"Should we detain the adviser, or… ?"

"No," Dunic says. He had enjoyed the strange, little man. "Subdue him, and make sure he leaves orbit."

There's a beat where the soldier wants to protest or ask why. Dunic waits, and finally they work up the courage. "You're letting him escape?"

"It will make no difference soon enough."

Another beat. "Yes, sir."

"Have the boy brought to the medics. Hosner is expecting him."

"Yes, sir."

"And remind the team. Their targets are two Altean soldiers, one a Voltron paladin. They must keep their guard up."

They nod, and leave the room.

Dunic sighs.

He is a proud man. He knows this. He takes his status as alpha, and provider, and leader, very seriously. They are the core of his identity. When Coran spoke of a universe of peace, he could not deny that he saw the appeal. Perhaps a braver man than Dunic would have had his heart swayed. 

Perhaps it is brave of Dunic, in its own way, to stay true to his original agreement.

But Dunic was never a man that could lie to himself, and he knows neither of those things are the case. The earlier agreement to detain the Voltron team at all costs, to hold them until they would be trapped on Lune, is something he could have been swayed from with a strong enough alliance. With exactly what Coran had offered.

But Dunic's _pride_ …

Lance had smiled at Dunic from across the table, rested his hand on his chin and tilted his head to the side – Dunic had been charmed. Lance had touched his shoulder as he spoke, he had looked him in the eyes, a sort of intimacy that set Dunic's alpha instincts ablaze with interest, hunting out the answering need in Lance – but of course there was none. 

_How_ could Dunic have grown so fascinated with a creature that was not an _omega_. It was simply unacceptable, it was unthinkable, it could never be discovered – it questioned his status as an alpha. Dunic can not stand it, and he has enough power that he doesn't have to.

Dunic grew interested in an omega, so an omega is what Lance will become.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And we're finally to the good stuff!! See the notes on the bottom for a summary of what happens to Lance this chapter.

Hosner is pulled out of bed in the dead of night – she's been called to operate at inconvenient times in the past, but it was always for an emergency. Some sort of accident, injury, something life threatening. 

And then she started working for the embassy, and the spoiled diplomats and soldiers inside. 

She grumbles in annoyance once she hears that she's been woken up for an omega revivification, of all things. _Of course_ , some high ranking alpha got interested in an infertile omega, and can't even wait for the morning before they mate… 

But the grumbling stops once she opens the door to her lab. 

" – Seriously, get your hands off me!!"

The little thing is wearing a traditional omega outfit, but is obviously not from Lune, or Rune. Impossibly tiny, skin a pleasant, dark, earthy tone. He does have the look of an omega, though, a pretty face with lanky and long limbs, and isn't having much luck in fighting off the guards on either side of him. 

"You! Hey!" the creature says, turning his attention to Hosner when she opens the door. "Help! These guys attacked me, and dragged me in here, and my friend was hurt – "

Hosner hums as though listening as the boy rattles on. Reading through memo that was left behind by the commodore, _Lance_ is his name, but they don't have much else to go on. It's going to be a long night, then, a full work up. But she's getting excited about this now. Definitely not an emergency, but it's _interesting_ , something new, a species she's never seen before. Will the modification table even be able to adjust small enough to accommodate someone Lance's size? Will she have to use artificial hormones, or will Lunian's be compatible? 

"I need to talk to _Princess Allura_ ," Lance says, growing more desperate, the name as though it will mean something to Hosner. "You know, the one flying a castle-slash- _battleship_ just above Lune??" 

"I'm sure we can arrange that once we've finished here, Lance," Hosner says, then, to the guards, "Set him up on the table, will you?"

"No – hey, are you listening to me?!"

The guards still restraining the patient hoist his protesting body up easily, carrying him over to the table, as she starts preparing the rest of her lab. 

" _Disrobe_ him first, please," Hosner says, rolling her eyes when they simply start strapping him in. 

" _Stop!_ " Lance puts up quite the fight, ends up kicking one guard in the jaw, nearly wriggling out of his grasp – for a second Hosner thinks he might make it, clawing free, but he's grabbed around the waist again, yanked back, his pants pulled off, and secured onto the table. He lets out such a sound then, desperate and furious and terrified, that Hosner could almost feel bad for the boy.

The table works for his size, but just barely, the restraints pulled to their limit and giving almost no slack – Lance is in the traditional pose for an omega examination, knees secured up, almost to his chest, then spread wide open, arms bound beneath. Hosner settles down onto her chair, rolling between his wide open legs. 

"I was worried the table would be too big for you," she tells him with a smile, tipping the table back, lifting his under developed opening into view. "But it looks like we got lucky, hm?"

"Wh-whatever- whatever you guys want, I-I – just – " Lance's chest is heaving in fear, eyes wetting. " _Please_ , don't, please."

"Shhh, there's nothing to be afraid of," Hosner says. "I've done this procedure countless times for underdeveloped omegas –"

" _I'm not an omega!_ "

"Same principal," Hosner says. "Trust me. You're in good hands. Now, let's start with a basic bio-reading, hm?"

~

"I'm sending the coordinates of our target," Pidge says. 

"Doesn't really look like an area that needs help," Hunk says. "Hey, is that a farmer's market?!"

"Maybe it was sent by some insurgents," Keith says, but even as he looks around the area on Red's scanner, he doesn't see any sign of anything but happy little town. It's about the same level of advanced as Lune had been, families walking through the town, shops and houses. Clean, paved, maintained streets.

"Hey," Hunk says. "Should we really be landing there, all, you know. Lioned out? It could freak them out."

"And ruin any element of surprise," Keith says.

"Good thinking," Shiro says. "We'll find the nearest unpopulated area and land there."

There's something like a forest two miles out from the urban development, and that's where they touch ground. The walk into town is long, and monotonous, and Keith can't really blame Pidge and Hunk for dropping their guard and joking around, but it makes Keith feel even more on edge. They're already one man down, and only have one long range weapon, Hunk's. It's not especially nimble. It limits their options. Shiro keeps to the front and nods silently when Keith drops to the back, covering them from behind, on high alert. 

Nothing attacks, though, not during the journey and not once the arrive the edge of the town.

"Pidge, can you get us any closer to the origin of the signal?"

"Sorry," Pidge says. "Just the general radius."

They look over the happily bustling town, and Keith can't help but feel stupidly out of place.

"So what do we do? Just wander around until we see someone who needs help?"

"I guess we'll just have to contact the embassy," Shiro says.

"But if it is rebels – " 

"I know," Shiro says to Keith, not looking happy about it himself. "But that's a risk they took by being so vague in their message. We have to start somewhere, and none of us are going to pull off any kind of useful recon."

He has a point. Keith frowns and follows when Shiro walks into the town. 

A Runian – just as tall as their Lunian brothers, the same pale shade of blue – is walking on his own, separated from the rest, and that's who Shiro calls out to.

"Excuse me," Shiro says. The Runian keeps going. "Ah – excuse me!" Shiro tries again. The Runian stops this time, but doesn't look up, in fact he ducks his head. "We're looking for an embassy or a capitol, could you – ah – Pidge, is the translator working?"

"It says it is," Pidge says. 

The Runian is getting distressed now, bowing deeper.

"Can I help you?"

A new Runian says this, hurrying over, a short and stout, deeply annoyed woman.

"Yes. We're looking for your embassy or capitol."

"You'll want to talk to the council, it's in the center of the town. Just keep going straight," she says. "And next time you want directions, don't ask an _omega_."

She stands in front of the man protectively and says it like it's the obvious, rudest thing in the world for them to have done. And maybe on this world, it is. Shiro apologizes, and they start heading into the town. 

They definitely get stares as they go, but none of it seems hostile, or particularly excited. Just very, very surprised. 

"I guess 700 years of solitude'll do that to a planet," Hunk says.

"Maybe they just sent out a distress beacon for company," Pidge says, and they laugh a little. 

Keith had been mildly annoyed at the lack of direction the Runian gave, but once they're in the heart of the town it makes more sense. What has to be the council building is impossible to miss, towering over the rest of the buildings, topped with a gold roof that makes it almost literally a beacon. 

Four guards are posted in the front, two more in the halls, and one in front of the councilman’s office. It's the highest positioned office in the building (a two story drop if they had to make an escape through the windows). 

"Hello," Shiro says, when they're brought in front of the councilman's desk. "I'm Takashi Shiro with Team Voltron. We recovered a distress signal coming from your planet – "

"Ha, yeah right. And I bet you brought your _lions_ , too!" the Runian leader laughs, leaning back in his chair. His eyes look over the four of them a second longer, though, and then his smile falls. "You're – you're serious?"

"Yes," Shrio says, slowly, exchanging a look with Keith, but he's just as a lost. "The distress signal was asking for assistance. We came to help, we were hoping you could provide more information."

"You – you talked to Commodore Dunic?"

Another look, this time shared with the entire group. "Yes. We did."

"And he allowed you to down here?" he says. There's visible panic rising in his face.

"Yes. He gave us clearance." 

"Listen, guy," Keith says, not appreciating this strangeness, feeling like they've been jerked around, still hotly aware of the threat back on the other planet, the one they left Lance _alone_ with. "Do you know anything about the distress signal or not?"

"I'm sorry!" he bursts out, covering his face. "They talked me into it, I didn't want to, honestly, I didn't even like the idea, Voltron was always my favorite fairy tale as a kid!"

" _Who_ talked you into _what_?" Pidge asks.

"Where did you get this?" Shiro asks, abruptly, holding up a pin he found on the desk. 

It's red, with a long, thin, yellow swoop cutting through it, and not something Keith has ever seen before.

~

It's the sign for the Eastern Galactic Alliance.

Allura has gotten sick of the sight, because every time she sees it, she's about to be dragged into a long, rambling delay. _Filibustering_ – an earth term that Shiro taught her. The tactic of blathering nonsense shamelessly just to exhaust your opponent and devour their valuable time. 

"And if we _were_ to agree to this so called _alliance_ ," says representative Howt. 

"So-called?" Allura repeats. "In what way do you feel the definition of alliance does not fit?"

"I am a person of great integrity and I contemplate things, princess. I really think about them deeply. And after much contemplation – "

None of that was necessary. Absolutely none of it. Allura rips at the napkin in her lap furiously, keeping the smile on her face, _sure_ that no one is unintentionally this aggravating, this long winded, this annoying. This has to be a tactic. 

"So, personally speaking," Howt says. "I feel an alliance, by implication, involves parties of equals. But you are the one with all the fire power here. You have massive war machine – "

"A weapon of _defense_." 

"If we were to form an agreement with you, with you controlling Voltron, really, it's just us going along with whatever you want. We can't realistically hope to fight back, could we?"

"If you look at the terms of the agreement – "

"That doesn't mean anything. You could throw that out today, and what could we do about it? And that reminds me of a story – "

Allura nearly screams. 

"Princess! There is a message – urgent."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she says. "We'll touch back on that when I return." 

Allura stands sharply, but had unfortunately forgotten the napkin she had been ripping to shreds in her frustration. Pieces of it sit on the lap of her dress, and fall slowly to the floor as she stands. She stutters only for a second, then refuses to acknowledge it, hurrying to the control room. 

"Thank god," she groans, slapping the control panel, opening the transmission feed and the incoming message. "Whoever this is, I have to thank – "

Allura literally gasps. It is Coran, with a bandage wrapped around his forehead and an eye so badly beaten it's almost swollen shut. When he speaks though, his voice is furious business.

"Princess, we have an emergency."

~

"May I come in?"

"Certainly," Hosner says. "Excellent timing, I just finished the basic physical."

"It's nearly sunrise," Dunic says, raising an eyebrow. He had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that he'd be able to see the finished product by morning. 

"Cataloging a new species takes time." 

"Is – he sleeping?" Dunic asks, looking down at the boy, spread and restrained to the table, eyes closed and expression troubled.

"It appears so. To be fair, the process on his end is quite boring," Hosner says. "And from the readings, humans require a lot of sleep – a full third of a sun cycle."

"That much?" 

"Mmhm, and it appears that they have almost non-existent rejuvenation abilities – see this?" Hosner points to a pale line of skin beneath Lance's rib.

"What is that?"

"A deposit of connective tissue – the remains of an injury he sustained years ago. I would suspect any injury severe enough would leave this sort of marking on his body," she says. "In general they're just an extremely low energy species, nearly all their resources are devoted to sustaining their metabolism. Lots of sleep, like I said, and lots of food – this is quite an investment you're making… Though I do understand the appeal."

They both look at the boy, and watch his chest rise and fall for a moment. Even that is a tempting thing. Everything about him speaks to Dunic's instincts as an alpha, and he has a very real urge to simply carry him off to his own bed.

"What about the modifications?" he asks.

"The additional height you asked for is right out," she says, shaking her head. "There is no way such a fragile body would be able to recover from such a heavy surgery."

"Hn," Dunic says. "I had hoped to make him a proper mate, but this shortness…" It would be impossible to overlook. Lance would be fine as a novelty but nothing to be taken seriously, Dunic would only be able to take him to the most casual gatherings, or to his bed. 

"Well, there is some good news," Hosner says. "Any changes we _do_ make will be irreversible." 

"Hm," Dunic says. That _is_ good news. A Lunian body is mailable, and quickly heals back to its original shape regardless of any kind of modifications. "Well, what can you do?"

"Humans have many of our hormones pre-existing in their system – a simple implant and he will start producing omega hormones on his own, we can specify the strength and the secondary omega characteristics. It seems that a human's brain is extremely adaptable as well, so I believe conditioning will be successful."

"What delightful creatures," Dunic says. "Are you able to remove that – connective tissue?"

"Yes, any cosmetic changes should be fine. The coloring, for example, we could make him a proper blue, if you like."

"No, no," Dunic says quickly. That was part of the boy's appeal. "What about that, though?" Dunic points to the distinct color difference between the boy's upper arms and chest – he is abruptly paler in some spots compared to others. 

"Ah. It appears their skin is sensitive to the energy of stars," the doctor says. "This is a very mild burn, darkening the skin in the pattern of the clothes he was wearing at the time he was exposed."

"Is it harmful?"

"Not that I can tell."

"Could it be used for cosmetic purposes? Patterns?"

"Very creative, commodore," Hosner says. "Yes, we could do that."

"Though, the most important modification is carrying," Dunic says. The desire to see Lance heavy with his child is a palpable one. He wants to see what sort of brilliantly beautiful children this creature would carry, he wants to see him round with it. There is no surer way to demonstrate an alpha's virility than to fatten their omegas with as many children as possible, and after the turmoil this pretty thing has put him through, Dunic will not rest until he has succeeded. 

"It's not something I would recommend," Hosner says. "We could make him capable of it, but the size difference – it would be an extremely taxing pregnancy."

"But possible?"

"Extremely taxing," Hosner says again. "But yes. Possible."

"Then I must insist," Dunic says. He's about to say more, but the quiet sound of a hitching breath catches his attention. 

Lance is awake. His eyes are clenched shut, teeth grit in frustration. 

"Well," Dunic says. Then decides not to mention it, he is going to be spending time with Lance in the future and he can't imagine any discussion now would be productive. "I'll leave you to your work."

"Thank you, commodore," Hosner says. "I'll contact you if I have any further questions." 

~

"Please," Lance says, softly, the second the door closes. "Come on, you don't seem like a bad guy, don't – don't do this, please, please – "

"I'm injecting you with a customized sedative," Hosner says, ignoring the emotional plea. She taps the top of the needle, which he stares at, eyes round with terror, as she brings it to his neck. He tenses as she injects it, and gives a small, desperate cry of fear. This boy is an omega through and through, no doubt about that. "You may have some phantom sensations from this, but you'll essentially be unconscious for the entire process.

"Once you're under, this will be implanted in the traditional position of an omega gland," she says, holding up the small, customized implant. "It will introduce the hormones to your system needs to create a balanced omega, and stimulate the hormones already present to produce more. It will dissolve on its own once the process is completed and be flushed out harmlessly."

Lance is crying softly, looking up at the ceiling. 

"Once you've reached a stable level, we'll begin the surgery, though this is minor – I've tried to limit that as much as possible, given your fragile physiology, it's actually quite groundbreaking work," Hosner says. "A few snips and then we'll begin the stimulation process, to make sure everything is in working order. All told, it should be done before the end of the day."

Lance simply closes his eyes and shakes his head. 

"And finally, I will be attaching these," Hosner says, and lifts one of the small, white discs she'll be applying to his forehead. "In order to monitor the process. The scans will be displayed here, so I can get an accurate reading on how much pleasure you're actually feeling from the changes. This will actually feel very good," she promises. "Almost all omegas report the process as a very pleasant, erotic dream."

Lance shakes his head no, but is obviously succumbing to the sedation, it's sluggish and slow.

"You're in good hands," Hosner promises again. 

~ 

The implant works quickly, as it usually does. Lance doesn't have much body hair to start with, but after a few moments, it's easily wiped away, leaving his skin bare and soft as any omega. 

He moans, pleasure spiking wildly as his chest begins to change – it's not much of a change, truth be told, but his body has so little fat to begin with, any new additions are immediately apparent. His nipples grow fat and puffy, tempting and round. 

This is when Hosner notes that he's beginning produce that distinctive omega scent, when she notices the call to his body, and the rising urge to not only test his new, budding breasts with her tools, but her tongue and teeth as well. 

With typical alpha restraint, she does not. 

It is with some glee that she picks out the proper devices for this job, though. They have to be sized correctly, nothing too big or obscene, no. This will be as gentle as possible, and it speaks to her alpha side, especially appealing to have an omega so very tender and weak in front of her, panting and sweating as he comes into himself. 

"Aah," he moans in his sleep, arching up into the vibrator that Hosner selects, his movement tentative, experimental. Hosner holds it steady, not wanting to overwhelm him on this first blush of omegan pleasure. She waits for his hips to drop, then rise up again, before she presses firmly against him again, listening to his whimpers take on a higher, needier pitch. 

Yes, this is a definite perk of her job.

Hosner finds herself responding, crossing her legs tightly as she continues to work against his sensitive skin, wanting to bring him pleasure not only to insure that all his parts are working, but out of her own sense of satisfaction, to leave an omega well pleasured and panting. 

"Oh," he gasps softly, as she brings her fingers down, giving a more precise stimulation to his new opening. That is not professional, but then again, neither is being woken up in the middle of the night to custom build an omega. "Oh, oh – " Lance's whole body does a sort of wiggling, pleading twist, away from her touch even as he seeks out more of it. She rubs the vibrator generously, from his dick down to his new opening, wide, firm pressure, and he chokes, coming, twitching against the restraints on his legs on instinct before relaxing, limp and whimpering.

It was an orgasm from his dick, but moisture is beginning to leak generously from his opening, and this is where Hosner presses the vibration again, not giving him time to relax. This is the moment to strike, to get his body adapting to this new form of sexuality.

"Aaah, ah – oh – " Lance's whimpers are confused, his hips arching up wildly, grinding down against the stimulation, tipping his head back. The readings are going wild on the screen, and this is where Hosner pauses. 

His brain is simply – simply _flooded_ with bonding chemicals. How is that possible? That sort of reaction should only be present after years of mating. It must be something all humans do, Hosner realizes. Instead of relying on classifications to become compatible with a long term mate, they must form monogamous bonds through this – through the act itself. Absolutely fascinating, the implications are exciting enough to distract her from her task completely. 

Until Lance cries out from her especially firm pressure, coming again, tears leaking down his face. Yes, that was a proper omega orgasm, his dick is leaking but it's only from the aftershocks of the first one. His body is tensing, his opening is fluttering against the vibrator, attempting to clamp down on it, to milk it dry, to accept its seed.

Excellent. Simply excellent. 

Hosner grabs for her next device, something that can press against his entire area, crotch to rear, providing gentle, soothing vibrations that will keep Lance stimulated as she continues her work. 

She straps him into the device, smiling to herself when he whines, rolling his hips, trying to get used to the sensation. What an absolute delight. The changes are coming along nicely, the omega scent is strong and delicious and uniquely human, she has to admit. 

She washes her hands, and finishes the rest of her paperwork to the lovely, helpless cries and whimpers of her patient.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lance is stripped, strapped down and examined against his will  
> Lance is drugged as his body is modified, then vibrators are rubbed against him to bring him to multiple orgasms while he is unconscious


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See below for a summary of events!

Tourist season just ended. There's trash scattered all across the beach; wrappers, half empty bottles of soda and sunscreen, a lost shoe… But Lance couldn't be happier. It's finally quiet, the sun is high in the sky and there's sand between his toes.

He's laying out on his back, eyes closed, and his biggest concern is when to stop stop sunbathing and start swimming. Life is good.

He's happy, comfortable and alone – it's not the _weirdest_ time to get an erection, but it's still not something he expected. He's feeling lazy, though, and only squirms at strange, but steadily building arousal in his crotch.

When it only continues to grow, though, his brow creases in confusion – it builds to the point that it actually starts to feel out of his control, even more than his random woodies he got in middle school. He shifts his hips, rubbing his thighs together, arching his back, just slightly, his body looking for some kind out outlet to help endure the sudden, powerful feelings.

Lance huffs, biting his lip, suddenly intensely aware of the fact that his nipples are exposed to the open air. That's nothing new, he's spent most of his time on this beach shirtless, but the sensation is vulnerable, now, which, bizarrely, only _increases_ his arousal. 

"Lance?" Hunk asks.

Lance opens his eyes, and it takes a second to focus on Hunk's figure, standing above him. His first reaction is embarrassment, to be seen by anyone, but especially his friend, when he's in such a weird, writhing, aroused state – he _knows_ he's hard enough for the outline of his dick to be plainly visible in his shorts – but he can't seem to do anything about it except give a miserable little whine, shoving the side of his face into the sand.

"Hey, it's okay buddy," Hunk says, voice sympathetic. He _oofs_ , dropping cross legged into the sand beside him, and smiles, holding open his arms. "I can help."

Lance doesn't see how that could be possible, but suddenly, he's seated in Hunk's lap. 

Hunk is a big guy. It used to make Lance jealous, especially when he was first accepted into the Garrison, especially how _effortless_ it was – Hunk worked out when he felt like it, and his frame would bulk up immediately, like it had just been waiting for the chance. He'd go from soft and large, to firm and bulky, then back again, depending on his moods and the size of his meals. He says he's always been this way, Lance knows it's true. He's just got a better foundation for muscle – even his hands are massive, and they move, hot and thick between his legs. 

"Hunk," he bites out, embarrassed but grateful, his hips following the movement of his petting. It's odd, not a proper hand job, more just - stroking and petting, mostly his balls and behind that, an area that is surprisingly sensitive, and makes Lance shiver. 

"Yeah, I thought you might like that," Hunk says, and winks. Lance isn't sure when it happened, but his legs are spread – wide, all the way on either side of Hunk's knees, and his shorts are gone. 

He's defenseless and exposed when, suddenly, Shiro shows up.

"Oh – oh no," Lance says, wanting to _die_ in embarrassment, whining openly. 

"What's wrong?" Hunk asks. 

"I – " Lance is having a hard time forming the words, for some reason, and it ends in another whine.

"We've got you Lance," Shiro says, smiling warmly, without mockery or anything, and that's – that's pretty good. It makes him feel better about it when Shiro bends down and wraps his mouth around his cock, holy fuck, _Shiro's mouth around his cock_ , the sight and the sensation is so good it's as though Lance was hit a live wire, only able to shake and gasp. Nothing could possibly feel better, he's sure, until Hunk's fingers pet up his sides, landing on his chest, stroking the surprisingly sensitive flesh of his nipples.

"Aah!" Lance cries, flopping his head back, jackknifing his dick up into Shiro's mouth, who takes it without difficulty. He finds a rhythm he likes, rolling his hips up in time with Hunk's circling, teasing fingers. 

"Move over."

It's Keith, and he's scowling, what the fuck else is new? But Lance doesn't mind, he's in a weird floaty porn world, and Keith is fucking hot – he can admit it – and is more than welcome to join. 

Hunk moves one hand away, and Keith presses his mouth against his nipple, an open mouthed, greedy bite, before teasing the flesh there with his tongue. All three sensations going at once have Lance gasping uselessly, he feels hot all over and weak and weird and strange but Hunk is there, nuzzling his cheek against Lance's neck, pressing a kiss or two to his cheek. And he trusts Shiro, and he trusts, Keith, and it's – it's so fucking good. 

"Well, I suppose this is one way to form a bond." Allura is standing in front of them, hands on her hips, with an amused little smile on her face.

"P-princess," Lance says. She smiles again, and leans forward. She puts her hand on his chin, tipping it up toward her face gently, then presses her lips to his.

He comes – this is a dream, he knows it is because he didn't actually come, he can still feel the arousal bubbling away in his gut, but Shiro is swallowing, then pulling away, and Keith has lifted his head. He gives Lance a quick, sharp kiss on his forehead. Hunk stays where he is, wrapping Lance in a tighter embrace. He feels confused, and keyed up, but _safe_ , and warm, and decides to stop worrying about it. They know what they're doing, nothing bad will happen with them here.

~

Lance wakes slowly, disoriented beyond belief. There's something sticky between his legs, and he frowns in confusion when he realizes he's not in his bed – not on earth, and not in the castle. 

Then he remembers Rune. _Then_ he remembers the conference, the party, the doctor – in a useless burst of adrenaline, he sits upright, scrambling for escape. 

If he was in a normal sized bed, he would've hurled himself right off the side, but this one is larger than he's used to, and he doesn't quite clear it. This is a good thing, once he realizes how far the drop is to the floor, just slightly steeper than he was expecting. 

His bare feet hit the cold floor, and he backs into the wall, trying clear his head, figure out where he is, to place this room. It's a big space, but most of it is empty – the most prominent feature is the bed, which has heavy, cushiony blankets and pillows. There's shelving against the wall that holds what look like books and some awards – a private bedroom, then? He's in someone's home. Homes don't have guards, is his first thought. A home will be easier to escape, and not willing to waste this chance, Lance starts running to the doorway, when he catches his own reflection in a mirror and stumbles to a stop.

The sight is – wrong.

It's just _wrong_ , and in something of a trance, Lance approaches his reflection, baffled. 

His skin is color it gets only at the very end of summer, after months in the sun – an even, deep brown. But there are paler spots, dotting along his neck and up to his cheeks, in a deliberate fawn-like pattern, like he saw on some of the younger aliens. Thick, pale lines travel up the inside of his arms, disappearing under the sleeves of his shirt, which he pulls away to see the elaborate patterns on his stomach and – his – 

Chest. 

A numb sort of horror overtakes him as he stares, struggling to comprehend – they're small. But they are definitely breasts. He has a sudden memory of his dream, a hot mouth and tongue working against tender, velvety skin, and feels horror and heat in equal bursts, choking him. 

In a panic, he grabs between his legs, thankful to feel his dick – same familiar size, weight, good – and stumbles away from the mirror. His hands shake, he can't even bring himself to look down at his body again, he feels nauseated and terrified and _wrong_ , in a fundamental, down to his cells, way. 

_Escape. Now._ Don't think about anything else, just get to Blue. _Now!_

Oddly, the voice in his head sounds like Keith. 

Lance nods along with it, backing toward the door, opening it just enough to peek out. The empty hall in front of him only goes one direction, straight ahead, so Lance closes the door behind him silently and runs as quickly and quietly as he can. 

He hasn't forgotten how humiliatingly easy it was for the aliens to manhandle him, nor how every single one he met seemed perfectly fine with the treatment. He has no allies here, and the second he gets spotted by _anyone_ , the gig is up. He's not Shiro or Keith. Hell, he's not even Hunk, and he's not going to be able to jackhammer his way out of this. He knows his best chance is getting as far as he can, as fast as he can, without being seen. 

" - and we went to the kitchens yesterday!" a deep voice down toward the end of the hall complains. 

Lance freezes, looks around, then darts behind a thick set of window curtains. 

"Yeah, and it was good," says a second voice, getting closer. " _You_ just want to see if that alpha's still selling desserts at the market."

"Is that so wrong?" the first voice laughs. 

No response. 

In fact, it's complete, unnatural silence. They've stopped walking. After a year or two in space, Lance has developed his own battle sense, he knows without having to look that he was wrong. There _are_ guards in this house, and these two are on to him. They might not know everything, but they know _something_ is off, and they're communicating it to each other, coming up with a plan. Lance closes his eyes, trying not to panic, trying not to swear. He barely dares to breathe.

"… Could just be from the seraglio," one of them mutters quietly, voice suddenly far, far closer than it had been the last time it spoke. 

Okay. The danger is close enough that it actually pushes Lance's fear away, forcing him into action. He's pressed beside the wall, but the window is right there, beside him. What he's pretty sure is the latch is within reach. He shifts, slowly, carefully, to get a better look at the outside.

… It's a three story drop. 

Keith could do it.

The comparison settles his nerves immediately, fills him with annoyed determination. If Keith could, then Lance _will_. 

Avoiding the window as much as possible to keep his silhouette from appearing against the curtain, Lance reaches up and undoes the latch.

It releases with a soft little snap of metal against metal, and the two behind him shift their weight at the noise. No time to waste, Lance stops with the stealth, bends down and hoists open the window with his full strength, surprised at how easy it slides open. He rolls out the window _just_ as the curtains behind him are thrown back. He feels the very brush of fingertips against his back as he drops, coiling his body, preparing for the roll that he was taught at the Garrison, bracing for impact – 

He _slams_ into the ground, and rolls, tumbling head over heals with the momentum of the fall. He scrambles to his feet too early and stumbles wildly for a moment, falling to his side once before he gets up again and runs properly. Fuck. Every second step sends a sharp distraction up his leg that he slowly starts identifying as _pain_. He realizes that he landed wrong, had he heard a crack when he landed? Maybe, but he can't stop – there are healing pods at the castle, he has to get to the castle. 

" _Stop!_ "

As if! Lance would yell it if he had the breath in his lungs to spare. He waves a rude gesture in the air as he runs, getting closer to the edge of – whatever this place is. If it is a house, like he originally assumed, it's like, Downton Abbey level. Fuck, he finds himself jumping a little with each step on his wounded foot. He's still running, but he knows there's a limit to how far he can go, and he's getting closer and closer to it. 

He hears a ruckus behind him – the alarm has been sounded. _Shitshitshit._ They're rallying together, and it's not like it'll take long to get together a force that can subdue him. They're going to grab him. This is not going to be his escape. 

Still, he can get make it to the perimeter of the property, he can try to see where he is, where the embassy is, where Blue is – and he barely takes a step outside of it, barely gets a look around before he's grabbed, yanked fully into the air. 

He struggles as he's carried back inside, kicking with his good foot, wriggling and biting and making it as unpleasant as possible, but his heart's not really in it. 

He's too busy planning.

~

"He made it all the way to the gates," says the beta guard that stopped Lance from escaping. "Seems he hurt himself in the process, though. Had to get his foot wrapped."

In a way, Dunic is pleased. 

A hardy omega can carry hardy alphas. But a strong-willed omega needs a firm hand – Dunic has no intention of allowing his authority to be undermined. His omegas have never run wild through his home as they like, and this is something Lance will have to learn immediately. 

The guard releases Lance, and he makes a point of jerking away, stubbornly wobbling on his own good foot before finding balance. Dunic had seen the boy asleep, when he was first brought to his home, but awake and moving is something else. His skin is dewy and youthful, eyes a bright, brilliant contrast. He's wearing the temptingly revealing clothes of a newly wedded omega, something only suited for the bed chambers, but he is obviously unaware of the implications, and the way he moves, boyish and rough, rather than demure and bashful, is a most charming contrast. 

"I had hoped the welcome to my home would be under more pleasant conditions," Dunic says. 

"Yeah?? Sorry to disappoint," Lance says, gesturing so wildly he nearly knocks himself over. "But next time maybe _don't_ kidnap people and put them through gross-out experiments!" 

"You and I have already met as diplomats," Dunic says, disliking the sarcastic, snotty tone. This will not do. "But do not be mistaken. As your alpha I have a very low tolerance for disobedience."

"You're not my _anything_!" Lance shouts. "Team Voltron is gonna fly back over here and – kick your – what – what are you doing…?" His outraged tone shifts, growing somewhat confused. Concerned. Dunic is doing nothing but approaching, slowly. 

There is a reason why Dunic has accumulated so much power, and a reason why he has managed to hold on to it. He is a prime specimen of an alpha, his pheromones are powerful enough to even make alphas restless. Betas and omegas do not stand much of a chance, and he is pleased to see just how successful the process of turning Lance into an omega was. _This_ is the reaction he was looking for. Lance's breath catches, his pupils grow fat, his body grows lax. He stares Dunic up and down, as if searching for a cause for this reaction.

"What?" he asks again, sounding dazed.

Dunic stands directly in front of him, and the boy quakes, no doubt struggling to process the alien urges. When Dunic makes a point of locking eyes with him, Lance quickly darts his eyes to the floor, bowing his head. A good, submissive, omega instinct that makes Dunic hum in delight. The sound has a visible affect on the poor thing. He shakes harder and Dunic wonders if he's resisting the urge to kneel. His body, at least, is certainly not confused. 

"What did you _do_ to me?" Lance demands voice shaking with it, taking a step back. 

"I am your alpha," Dunic restates. "And I do not tolerate disobedience. But I do apologize. I was under the impression that you would be unconscious hours yet. It must have been a frightful thing for you to wake up in such unfamiliar surroundings."

It's a mercy, a kindness he sometimes gives when one of his favorite subordinates has acted out – giving them an excuse he can forgive. Though he is not entirely surprised when Lance does not take it. 

"What's _frightful_ is being here! With you!" Lance says. Though impudent, his voice also cracks in an especially terrified way, and Dunic has a hard time keeping his expression stern. This one will have Dunic wrapped around his finger, he already knows it. 

"You will come to appreciate it in time," Dunic says, and, remembering his injury, lifts Lance up – with such ease, it's as though he barely weighs more than a child, and maybe there will be something delightful in this small size – and carries him to his chair, setting him on his lap. The boy has been putting out a distressed scent for a while, and Dunic thinks the best way to introduce him to his new existence as an omega might be this, bonding as mates, providing comfort and safety, rather than intimacy. 

" _Fuck you,_ " Lance is saying, over and over again, shoving at Dunic's chest, digging his elbow anywhere he can reach, but he has obviously realized this is a symbolic protest. 

Dunic ignores this, petting at the small of Lance's back in soothing strokes, something to trigger a docile, cooperative response in omegas, but this does not relax him. Hm. He presses Lance's face against his own neck, hoping to subdue the boy with his own scent, but he stays stiff and uncooperative as a board – if anything his distress seems to increase. 

"Resisting is only going to make it harder on yourself," Dunic says.

" _Good!_ " Lance says, somewhat nonsensically. 

Very well. Dunic decides to simply get it over with. He forces the boy's head back, bearing his neck, and this gets an actual sob of fear, Lance forcing himself away as far as possible, arms extended and locked against Dunic's chest. 

This is more than just stubborn resistance. 

He has a message sent to Hosner, to report to his home, _immediately_. 

~

"I don't believe it."

"I know! And the man was obsessed!" Coran says. "He tried to make an offer, then spent the whole night just making eyes at Lance from across the room like a lovesick schoolboy!"

"No – I _literally_ do not believe it," Allura says, shaking her head, watching the trajectory of Coran's escape pod approaching the castle as they continue to speak. "Lune and Rune are _not_ in positions powerful enough to turn down an alliance with our kingdom, simply for a pretty face."

"I don't know what to tell you," he says. "But that's what happened."

"It's too many coincidences," Allura says. The conference, the signal, the delaying tactics of the politicians – Allura freezes. "Coran. Lune and Rune swap places every seven hundred years, correct?"

"Correct, princess!" 

"And when is the next movement going to take place?"

Coran frowns in thought, and she can hear the sound of his fingers moving on the control pad off screen. "In – exactly thirty femtoites."

~

" – hiro! D – you copy??"

"Just barely!" Shiro yells, running down the street. "There's a lot of distortion, princess."

" – get off – quickly as poss – trap!"

"If you're warning us about the Lune/Rune trap to keep Voltron stuck on the inner planet for seven hundred years," Shiro says. "We already know! Keep an eye on council-member _Howt_ and his men, it looks like they're in on it."

"Yes, we – but – Hurry!! You – _thirty earth minutes_ bef – once it – starts!!"

"I think we all got the gist of that, princess. We're already on the move."

"She better not have just said we only have thirty minutes," Keith says. "It's going to take us that long to even get to our lions!"

"Sorry guys!" Hunk says, breathless. "I didn't think we'd need to make such a quick exit…"

Hunk and Pidge are both lagging behind, and Shiro is torn, not wanting to slow down, but not willing to risk losing sight of them on this planet. 

"Keith!" Shiro says. "You go on ahead. Your lion is the fastest."

Keith nods, and Shiro knew he was holding back, but didn't realize just how much until he basically doubles his speed, his stance tightening he quickly vanishes in the wild foliage of the forest. 

"So what exactly is the plan if we don't get there in time?" Pidge asks, huffing

Shiro isn't sure. If they had planned to trap _all_ five Voltron pilots on Lune, they must have technology that they, at least, believe matches the strength of Voltron. Best case, this is just the delusional attempt of three nations combining their resources, and they'll be able to get through it with just four lions. Worst case, they're receiving support from Zarkon and the entire Galra fleet. Without Lance – and Lance without _them_ – he can feel anxiety prick up his spine in unpleasant little bursts. They never should've split up. They got overconfident, the team is still too young. If all five had been stuck on Lune, they could've just formed Voltron and had a good chance of escape… 

"We'll worry about that then," Shiro says, and sets a countdown display on his visor. 

Twenty minutes left.

~

"He is not responding to my attempts to mate." 

To Dunic's fury, Hosner does not look surprised. "I was afraid this might be the case."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, he is not a genetic omega – "

"I was told that the process was a success. Is this a lie?"

"Humans have their own methods of bonding – "

" _Is this a lie?_ "

"You will have to listen and decide for yourself, commodore," says Hosner, clearly annoyed. "The revivification process was a success. He independently produces omega hormones, and responds properly to stimulus. However this is in _addition_ to his already human mind. Humans already produce chemicals that initiate bonding without mating. I am afraid, with these two processes together, Lance's mind believes he is already mated."

"To who?" Dunic says, unable to stop the growl that rises along with it. He has already started to think of the omega as his own, and powerful instincts are stirred at this being challenged.

"I can't begin to guess. It might not be anyone in particular, the simple fact that the chemicals exist in him could be stalemating the process," Hosner says. "If my hypothesis is correct, he will not be responsive to a new mate."

Dunic is nearly speechless. What is the _point_ of an omega that cannot mate? "There are other options. You spoke of conditioning." 

"Conditioning requires a successful bond already in place with a proper mate," Hosner says. 

"Which he has," Dunic says, straightening to his full height. "The conditioning process will begin immediately."

"Commodore, it won't do anything – "

"He is a stubborn omega in need of training," Dunic says, no longer willing to entertain this discussion. "We know how to handle that." 

Hosner is plainly annoyed. Dunic had not approached this argument as two equals, but as a superior giving orders, which would certainly annoy the other alpha. But ultimately, she relents. 

"I'll have the equipment brought over," she says. "We can begin this afternoon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lance has a vivid sex dream about his friends  
> He wakes up and attempts to escape, but fails and gets brought back to Dunic, who uses alpha/omega pheromones to weaken and confuse Lance, but when he attempts to bond/mate with Lance, he is rejected  
> Allura figures out about a trap that had been set for Voltron, and communicates this to Shiro, and they race to make it back to Lance before he is trapped with Dunic for 700 years.  
> Hosner is explains that human chemistry might make mating impossible. Dunic insists on trying to "train" Lance to accept mating anyway.


End file.
